THE  LIBRARY 

OF 

THE  UNIVERSITY 
OF  CALIFORNIA 

LOS  ANGELES 


>  7  f  U    ' "  <*   *     * 


Jf\. 

/ 


OTHER  POEMS, 


AUGUSTA  CLEVELAND  FRINDLE. 

AUTHOR    "OF    PAST,  PRESENT   AND    FUTURE,"    "  WHITE    LILIES,"  AUNT   ELSIE'S 
STORY,"   "  DECORATION    DAY,"    ETC.,   ETC. 


SPRINGFIELD,  MASS.: 
WHITNEY    &    ADAMS, 

1879. 


Entered  according  to  Act  of  Congress,  in  the  year  1879,  by 

A.  C.  PRINDLE, 
[n  the  office  8f  the  Librarian  of  Congress,  at  Washington. 


SPRINGFIELD   MASS.  : 

THE   CLARK  W.    BRYAN   CO.,  PRINTERS. 
I879. 


PS 
' 


TO 

THE     MEMORY     OF     MY     DEPARTED 

MOTHER, 

T.    ARETHUSA    DAVISON    CLEVELAND, 

Whose  patience,  resignation  and  piety  were  my  admiration  : 
Whose  love,  counsel  and  encouragement  were  my  inspiration, 

"ALPINE  FLOWERS," 

WHICH  ARE   AN    EMBLEM   OF    HER    LIFE, 
I  S 

AFFECTIONATELY    DEDICATED 

BY 

THE    AUTHOR. 


1051391 


CONTENTS, 


ALPINE  FLOWERS 7 

NEARER,     .        .        . 16 

OLD  AGE, 18 

THIRTY-THREE, 20 

A  CLOVER  BLOSSOM, 23 

LIGHT  AT  EVENING 26 

THE  VISION, 28 

THE  WATCHER, 31 

LONGING  FOR  HOME, 35 

HEREAFTER, 38 

To  MOTHER, 40 

ONWARD  AND  UPWARD, 43 

LINES 46 

"Is  IT  WELL  WITH  THE  CHILD," 49 

THE  CONFLICT, 51 

GENIUS  AWAKING, 54 

MOLLIE  PITCHER, 56 

THE  WEDDING, 61 

"  LILIE  MAY," 64 

OUR  HOPES, 66 

A  CHILD  OF  POVERTY 69 

"  SONGS  IN  THE  NIGHT," 72 


O  CONTENTS. 

DELIVERANCE  WILL  COM K 74 

"MIGHT  HAVE  BEEN," 77 

"MARIAN," 80 

MINNIE'S  BRIDAL 83 

THE  REPROOF, 85 

APRIL  TENTH, 88 

"  HE  GIVETH  SLEEP," 90 

Beth, 94 

DEC.  3iST, 97 

Loss  AND  GAIN 100 


ALPINE  FLOWERS. 

A  MID  the  Alps  eternal  snows 

Alone  the  Alpine  flowers  bloom, 
Content,  that,  thus  near  Heaven's  gate 
They  dwell  in  grandeur  and  in  gloom. 

The  mountain  bares  its  lofty  brow 
And  to  its  bosom  tempts  the  storm  ; 

But  in  its  chink  of  rifted  snow, 

The  floweret  rests  secure  and  warm. 

'Tis  born  of  storms,  and  swathed  in  snow, 
Its  nutriment  keen,  frosted  air  : 

Yet  fairer,  sweeter,  purer  flowers 
Not  sunny  vales  can  claim  or  wear. 


ALPINE    FLO \\KKiJ. 

Its  tiny  petals  never  boast 

The  brilliant  hues  exotics  wear, 

Nor  pungent  odors  scent  the  breeze 
With  fragrance  crypt  in  anthers  rare. 

Yet  that  which  forms  her  meed  of  good 
Received  from  Nature's  lavish  hand, 

Without  reserve  she  freely  gives 
As  tribute  to  a  weary  land. 

But  thousands  bud  and  bloom"  and  fade 
Unseen  save  by  their  Maker's  eye  ; 

Their  mission  is  not  mine  to  solve, — 
They  lived  for  God, — for  Him  they  die. 

The  traveler  struggling  with  the  storm, 
Or  basking  in  the  sun's  bright  beams, 

Will  stop  to  cull  the  fragile  flowers  ; — 
Will  weave  their  sweetness  in  his  dreams, 


ALPINE    FLOWERS. 

Will  mingle  them  with  far-off  homes, — 
With  bright  eyes  watching  far  away, — 

With  busy  fingers — rosy  lips — 

With  priest,  and  bride,  and  marriage  day. 

Will  smiling  view  their  azure  tint — 
Their  purity  so  sweet  and  rare  ; 

Will  strive  to  make  his  life  as  pure 
As  far  from  pride,  as  nobly  fair. 

Once  on  a  time  when  Love  was  young, 
An  eagle  caught  him  in  his  mirth, 

Its  talons  fastened  round  his  heart, 

And  bore  him,  bleeding,  from  the  earth. 

But  as  they  crossed  the  Alpine  crest 
The  last  drops  left  his  wounded  side, 

And  from  these  sprang  the  Alpine  flowers, 
Not  red — but  fair  and  azure  dyed. 


IO  ALPINE    FLOWERS. 

And,  pendant  from  each  rootlet  small, 
There  glows  a  ruby  rich,— so  rare 

No  prince  can  buy, —  and  none  but  these, 
The  pure  in  heart,  may  own,  or  wear. 

Earth  ne'er  had  claimed  a  child  so  pure 
The  Alpine  rubies  it  could  wear, — 

And  when  convulsed  with  Calvary's  throes 
They  fused  with  Love  incarnate  there. 

And  true  love  blending  with   divine, 
Evolved  rich  jewels  fine  and  rare, — 

The  "  Pearl  of  price,"  and  starry  crowns 
Which  only  those  redeemed  can  wear. 

Nor  wear  them  here  where  eyes  are  dimmed 
With  tears  evoked  by  sorrow's  power, 

Where  conquest  still  is  unachieved, 

Where  strife  and  conflict  are  our  dower. 


ALPINE    FLOWERS.  I  I 

But  just  beyond  the  mystic  stream 
Whose  waters  lave  life's  either  shore, 

Shall  conquerers,  crowned  by  Love  divine, 
Reflect  His  glory  evermore. 

Twas  Alpine  Flowers  inspired  my  song, 
They  are  the  wand  which  wakes  my  lyre, 

On  avalanche  and  glacier's  brow 
Their  petals  glow  with  poet's  fire. 

I  strive  to  catch  the  glowing  flame, — 

To  bind  Pegasus  to  my  car  ; 
He  hurries  on  the  trackless  way, 

The  lucid  light  recedes  afar. 

All,  all  alone !     The  hand  of  Fate 
Points  sternly  down  the  lonely  way; 

With  trembling  step,  and  blanching  cheek, 
I  bow  in  silence,  and  obey. 


12  ALPINE    FLOWERS. 

In  darknesss,  weary,  sad,  alone, 
Upon  the  mountain  pass  I  stand, 

A  gleaner  mid  the  chilling  storm, — 
A  gleaner's  harvest  in  my  hand. 

A  gleanerl    Ah,  what  have  we  here? 

A  flower  of  patience  dearly  bought, — 
A  bit  of  hearts-ease  frail  as  fair, — 

A  spray  of  Love's  forget-me-not, — 

A  faded,  broken,  laurel  wreath, — 

A  cross  with  sweetest  hopes  entwined, 

A  tiny  blade  of  golden  grain, 

Perchance,  amid  the  sheaf  we  find, — 

The  distant  murmur  of  a  song, — 
The  breathings  of  a  magic  lute, — 

The  memory  of  a  whispered  vow, — 
The  echo  of  a  voice  now  mute. 


ALPIN7E    FLOWERS.  13 

These  are  the  gleanings  from  the  storm 
And  aptly  christened  Alpine  Flowers, 
And,  like  that  mountain  flower,  they  fade 
Transplanted  to  earth's  sunny  bowers. 

We  do  not  proffer  them  to  those 
Who  cull  from  Flora's  fragrant  bowers, 
For  rich  exotics  do  not  find 
A  rival  in  our  Alpine  Flowers. 

If  words  expressed  from  saddened  hearts 
To  bless  sad  hearts  alone  have  power, 
Then  may  some  suffering  one  here  glean 
A  spray  to  garland  sorrow's  hour. 

'Twas  she  who  sang  their  natal  song, 
When  grief  and  woe  announced  their  birth, 
Wrung  from  the  bleeding  heart  of  love, — 

Nursed  by  the  chilling  frosts  of  earth. 
2 


14  ALPINE    FLOWERS. 

The  subtle  alchemy  of  frost 

That  massive  boulders  breaks  in  twain, 

Doth  gently  ope  the  forest  mast, 

And  shade  and  verdure  grace  the  plain. 

So  bitter  grief,  like  winter's  frost, 
Doth  crack  the  shell  of  selfish  hearts, 
lleveals  the  tiny  germ  of  love, 
Which  .to  vicarious  being  starts. — 

Starts  onward  nerved  to  deeds  sublime, 
Expanding  as  its  branches  rise  ; 
Thus  blessed  and  blessing  till  it  finds 
Its  home  perennial  in  the  skies. 

Sorrows  are  germs  for  higher  life, 
From  which  great  natures  may  evolve 
Rich  gems  of  thought,  as  center  suns 
Round  which  grand  principles  revolve. 


ALPINE    FLOWERS.  I  5 

The  gems  evolved  by  chemic  art 

From  sorrow,  trial,  grief  and  tears, 

And  crystallized  on  Calvary's  brow, 

Shall  brighter  glow  through  countless  years. 

And  He  whom  Justice  bleeding  bore 
Aloft  o'er  Calvary's  rugged  height, 
Bedecked  its  brow  with  gems  so  rare 
That  earth  and  heaven  reflect  their  light. 

Before  their  glorious  rays  the  sun 
Shall  veil  its  face  in  darkest  night, 
And  Calvary's  bleeding  victim  prove 
The  light  of  life,  and  life  of  light. 


NEARER. 

"  XT  EARER  my  God  to  thee  "  through  hours 

Thy  love  doth  grant  in  sunny  bowers, 
Or  if  the  shadowing  cross  I  see 
My  cry  will  still  be  nearer  thee. 

So  near  to  thee  that  every  cross 
Will  prove  a  crucible  for  dross, 
And  every  grief  and  trial  be 
But  waves  to  bear  me  nearer  thee. 

Nearer  to  thee  while  life  shall  last, 
Nearer  to  thee  when  death  is  past; 
In  heaven  still  my  cry  shall  be, 
Dear  Saviour,  keep  me  nearer  thee. 


NEARER. 

No  angel  bowing  round  thy  throne 
Hath  such  delight  thy  love  to  own 
The  love  that  gave  thy  life  for  me 
Will  surely  keep  me  near  to  thee. 


2* 


OLD  AGE. 

"  Man  goeth  to  his  long  home." 

AT'ES,  journeying  onward  with  no  thought  of  rest 
From  the  toils  and  the   trials   by    which    we    are 

pressed, 
Through    sorrow    and    sadness,  through   sunshine   and 

gloom, 
We  know,  just  before  us,  our  goal  is  the  tomb. 

The  sun  now  shines  dimly,  the  moon  disappears, 
And  the  stars  seem  like  hopes  of  the  far  away  years, 
While  the  clouds  of  spent  anguish  in  sorrow  we  view, 
Are  gathering  round  our  bowed  spirit  anew. 

The  windows  are  draped,  and  the  deepest  of  gloom 
Pervades,  all  unbidden,  the  dark,  cheerless  room, 
Where  Fancy  reads  backwards  from  Memory's  tome 
Of  years  that  have  vanished,  of  friends  who  are  gone. 


OLD    AGE.  19 

The  birds  singing  anthems  of  praise  at  our  door, 
We  deem  but  the  voices  of  loved  ones  of  yore, 
We  join  in  the  chorus  with  tremulous  glee, 
And  the  songsters,  affrighted,  decamp  from  the  tree. 

In  the  shade  of  the  flourishing  almond  we  wait 
For  the  angel  to  open  the  beautiful  gate  ; 
In  rapture  we  sing  as  we  view  the  bright  dome 
Of  the  city  of  God  and  our  glorified  home. 

So  fainting  and  weary  we  long  for  its  rest, 

Fair  earth  let  us  hide  in  thy  sheltering  breast ; 

In  thy  green  curtained  chambers  there  surely  is  room 

For  a  pale,  quiet  tenant  to  find  a  long  home. 


Now  close  the  door  softly  and  curtain  our  bed, 
For  sweetly  we  '11  sleep  where  the  daisies  are  spread 
Until  that  bright  morning  when  Jesus  will  come 
To  waken  the  sleeping,  and  welcome  them  home. 


THIRTY-THREE. 


times  one  are  eleven,  — 

O  fly 

Ye  years  ;  do  not  tarry,  I  'm  longing  to  try 
My  powers  in  the  conflict,  —  my  voice  in  the  song 
That  gladdens  the  warriors  while  fighting  the  wrong. 
I  've  cared  for  the  Baby,  and  Eddie,  and  Lou, 
I  heard  you  tell  Auntie,  quite  equal  to  you  ; 
But  I  guess  that,  my  body  's  too  young  for  my  soul, 
For  I  find  that  the  hardest  of  all  to  control. 
'T  will  soar  like  the  eagle  away  to  the  sun  — 
Then  question  to  know  when  the  morning  stars  sung  ? 
And  you  say  I  am   dreaming  when  I  'm  seeking  to  know 
Why  that  promise  to  Noah  was  sealed  with  a  bow. 

Eleven  times  two  are  twenty  two,  — 

Away  in  the  West 
New  England's  own  daughter  is  striving  her  best 


THIRTY-THREE.  21 

To  rescue  the  erring,  to  silence  the  wrong. 
To  cheer  the  faint-hearted  and  weary  with  song; 
Her  spirit  aspiring,  and  scorning  earth's  rest, 
Would  gather  rich  sheaves  for  the  home  of  the    blest, 
Bnt  the  voice  of  the  Master  bade  "  suffer,"  "  be  still," — 
And  in  loving  submission  she  bowed  to  his  will  ; 
Thus  waiting,  and  watching,  and  wandering  lone, 
Each  heart-throb  a  prayer,  and  each  prayer  but  a  moan. 
She  measures  the  years,  which,  though  dark  they  may 

gleam, 
Still  thrill  with  the  echo  of  youth's  brightest  dream. 

Eleven  times  three  are  thirty-three. 

They  sped — 

The  years,  but  she  garnered  bright  gems  as  they  fled, — 
The  brightest  from  sorrow,  the  largest  from  pain, 
And  her  diamonds  are  crystallized  tear-drops  of  rain, 
From  the  chiseling  hand  of  the  Sculptor  she  stands 
A  statue,  awaiting  his  farther  command, 


22  THIRTY-THREE. 

Nor  care  if  the  mansion,  or  quarry  retain 

The  work,  which,  in  either,  his  glory  proclaim. 

The  thirty-third  link  of  the  lengthening  chain 

Of  the  years,  she  's  been  clasping  to-day  without  pain  ; 

For  Hope,  the  bright  minstrel  which  springs  from  the 

throne, 
Is  thrilling  her  soul  with  sweet  music  of  home. 


A  CLOVER  BLOSSOM. 

'IIT'HY  did  I  cull  you  from  your  bed? 

You  bloomed  in  beauty  there, 
I  thought  to  cheer  a  lonely  hour 
With  your  sweet  face  so  fair. 

But  even  you  a  thorn  conceal, 
You  mock  me  with  the  past, 
You  whisper  of  those  happy  hours 
Of  youth,  too  bright  to  last. — 

When  skipping  lightly  o'er  the  lawn, 
I  culled  the  flowers  which  grew 
Around  my  path,  but,  gentle  one 
I  crowned  my  friends  with  you. 


24  A    CLOVER    BLOSSOM. 

You  speak  of  hopes  that  once  were  bright 
And  fresh  with  morning  dew, 
Ere  I  had  learned  deception's  power 
Or  found  the  world  untrue. 

The  stone  from  Memory's  door  you've  rolled, 
And  youth's  loved  friends  are  near, 
Who  long  since  traversed  streets  of  gold, 
And  left  the  wanderer  here, — 

So  lonely  that  to-night  I  yearn 

For  one  bright  gleam  of  bliss, 

From  their  blest  home,  to  strengthen  me 

To  bear  the  ills  of  this. 

I  gaze  into  thy  sunny  face, 

A  gleam  of  hope  is  there  ; 

"  The  morning  star,  you  say,  will  rise, 

The  shadows  disappear  ; — 


A    CLOVER    BLOSSOM.  25 

The  glorious  dawn  will  usher  in 
A  day  supremely  blest, 
When  not  a  doubt  or  grief  shall  mar 
The  glory  of  thy  rest." 


LIGHT  AT  EVENING. 

"At  evening  time  it  sliall  be  light." 

T    IGHT  at  evening  ! — blessed  promise 
That  life's  darkest  storms  shall  flee, 
That  each  bitter  cloud  of  sorrow 

Shall  but  bright  reflectors  be 
Of  the  radiance  which  shall  hover 

Round  the  spirits  evening  time, 
Singing  lullabys  of  heaven 

Which  with  angel  harpings  chime. 

In  the  morn  of  life  the  sunbeams 
Flooded  all  our  path  with  light, 

But  the  noontime  found  the  tempest 
Draping  the  same  path  in  night. 


LIGHT   AT    EVENING.  27 

Then,  amid  the  muttering  thunders, 

Lo,  a  gentle  voice  we  hear  : — 
"  Hope  and  trust, — beyond  these  shadows 

Shall  the  evening  light  appear." 

Almost  o'er  our  pilgrim  journey, 

Grief  and  trials  almost  o'er, 
Wistfully  we  watch  the  shadows 

Which  above  our  spirit  soar, — 
Watching  for  the  golden  glimmer 

Which  will  banish  sorrow's  night, — 
Waiting  for  the  blessed  promise — 

"  Lo,  at  evening  cometh  light." 


THE  VISION. 

T    HAD  a  vision  strangely  bright, 

A  vision,  blending  earth  with  heaven, 
So  gently,  that  I  never  deemed 
The  mystic  veil  was  still  unriven. 

I  mingled  with  the  ransomed  throng  ; 

My  lyre,  immortal,  chimed  with  their's ; 
My  voice  exultant  joined  the  song 

Which  rose  sublime  from  myriad  choirs. 

The  throng,  adoring,  cast  their  crowns 
In  homage  at  the  Savior's  feet ; 

Twas  then  I  saw  that  mine  alone 
Of  all  that  band  was  incomplete. 


THE   VISION.  29 

No  jewel  sparkled  on  its  crest 

Reflecting  radiance  from  the  throne ; 

I  stood  among  the  garnered  sheaves 
Redeemed,  but  with  a  starless  crown. 

I  felt  I  had  no  right  to  share 

The  joys  to  faithful  laborers  given  ; 

Their  crowns  were  bright  with  many  stars, — 
Saved  souls  they'd  won  from  vice  to  heaven. 

The  vision  changed,  I  turned  away 

In  sorrow  from  the  happy  throng, 
And  earthward  did  my  footsteps  tend, 

Fraught  with  a  mission,  noble,  strong. 

I  saw  the  ripened  harvest  spread 
Wide  as  the  world,  the  reapers  few ; 

I  joined  the  number,  and  with  joy 

Did  glean  till  eve  brought  star  and  dew. 

3* 


3<D  THE    VISION. 

I  shunned  no  path  the  Savior  led  ; 

Faith  was  my  guide,  my  refuge  prayer 
I  sought  among  the  haunts  of  vice, 

And  found  my  brightest  jewels  there. 

Again  the  mystic  scene  is  changed, 
Again  with  saints  in  heaven  I  bow ; 

I  do  not  mind  my  crown  or  stars, 
For  Jesus  has  my  homage  now. 

In  joy  I  cast  it  at  his  feet, 

His  love  hath  set  its  every  gem 

Firm  and  eternal  as  the  stars 
Which  sparkle  in  his   diadem. 


THE  WATCHER. 

A     WATCHER  lone  at  Memory's  gate, 

I  silent  view  the  passing  throng, 
Whose  footsteps  time  my  heart's  quick  throb, 
Whose  voiceless  greeting  haunts  me  long. 

I  join  the  moving,  motley  crowd, 

As  back  toward  cradle-time  they  press ; 

I  tread  life's  later  weary  years 

To  find  its  spring-time  love  and  rest. 

I  drink  again  life's  cup  of  joy, 

I  revel  in  its  peaceful  dream, 
Nor  look  for  storms  when  skies  are  fair, 

Or  quicksands  in  so  pure  a  stream. 


32  THE    WATCHER. 

But  vain  the  dream  of  tranquil  seas 

On  which  my  flower  'decked  barge  would  glide, 
Freighted  with  choicest,  richest  store, 

Make  heaven's  port  on  rising  tide. 

Again  I  meet  the  loved,  the  lost ; — 
Again  love's  accents  thrill  mine  ears, — 

Again  forget  what  love  has  cost, 

And  that  its  dower  is  nought  but  tears. 

There  pass  the  loved  of  later  days, 

But  life  still  young,  and  hope  so  bright, — 

Those  vanished,  these  too  passed  away, 
And  left  but  faith  for  beacon  light. 

I  wistful  gaze  among  the  throng 

For  one  't  were  long  since  sin  to  know, 

I  catch  one  last,  fond,  lingering  glance, 
As,  fair  and  sad,  she  glides  along. 


THE    WATCHER.  *  33 

My  spirit  bowed  beneath  the  view 

As  erst  it  did  when  hope  expired  ; 
Had  hope  expired  ?     Ah  !  late  I  knew 

That  it  had  only  been  deferred. 

Be  brave  my  heart !  thou  still  must  wear 

A  mask  to  hide  thy  every  throb, 
Till  death,  less  cruel  than  is  deemed, 

Unveil  thee  at  the  bar  of  God. 

Ah,  while  I  wait  the  tableau  changed, 
Changed  rapid  as  life's  fleeting  dream, 

I  only  see  the  phantom  shades 
Pass  slowly  down  life's  narrow  stream. 

I  weary  of  my  lonely  watch — 

I  step  inside  of  Memory's  gate, 
Bid  Hope  give  Faith  her  useless  key  ; 

And  only  ask  for  grace  to  wait. — 


34    *  TIIK    \VATCIir.K. 

Wait  Heaven's  illuminating  ray, 

The  wherefore  of  this  weary  road — 

The  promise  that  I  then  shall  know 
Why  sorrow  only  leads  to  God. 


LONGING  FOR  HOME. 

T    ONGING  for  home.     Tis  just  over  the  River, 

The  River  so  narrow,  the  glimmer  I  see 
Of  its  bright,  pearly  gates,  its  mansions  eternal 
Where  loved  ones,  with  Jesus,  are  waiting  for  me 

Waiting  they  watch  me  as  onward  I  hasten, 
Hastening  onward  I  wait  on  the  strand, 

Watching  the  ebb-tide,  to  bear  my  barque  over 
Death's  surging  wave  to  the  glorified  land. 

Home  of  my  soul  !  Not  long  would  I  linger 
A  stranger  and  pilgrim  away  from  the  fold, 

Shepherd,  O,  list  to  the  cry  of  the  wanderer, 
Rescue  thy  lamb  from  the  pitiless  cold. 


36  LONGING    FOR    HOME. 

Weary  and  faint,  nought  but  thorns  for  my  pillow, 
Dark  gleams  the  past  and  the  present  to  me, 

My  future  resplendent  with  glory  is  beaming, 
Oh,  mother  and  heaven,  I  'm  longing  for  thee. 

"  Not  yet "  can  I  enter  those  bright  hallowed  portals, 
Then  patience  impart — let  no  murmur  arise, 

Gird  me  with  strength  in  thy  vineyard  to  labor  ; 
Be  duty  my  pleasure — Thy  glory  my  prize. 

Longing  for  home  !     Ah,  tear-drops  are  falling, 

Poor  heart,  wilt  thou  never  prove  stronger  and  brave  ? 

Hush  thy  impatience,  thy  home  thou  art  nearing, 
Haste,  forth  to  the  harvest,  seek  others  to  save. 

Now  quiet  my  spirit,  in  patience  I  linger  ; 

Silenced  each  longing,  but  waiting  so  lone, 
While  Faith  points  the  way  with  her  glory-tipped  ringer, 

Where  Jesus  and  mother  make  heaven  and  home. 


LONGING    FOR    HOME.  37 

I  am  learning  to  wait,  as  I  stand  by  the  River, 
Still  waiting  to  learn  a  kind  Father's  behest ; 

Soon  shall  I  list  to  the  oar  of  the  ferryman 
Sent  by  compassion  to  bear  me  to  rest. 


HEREAFTER. 

"  What  I  do  them  knowest  not  now,  but  thou  shall  know  hereafter. 

T    KNOW  not  why  the  cherished  dreams 

Which  gladdened  childhood's  happy  morn 
Must  need  have  felt  the  chilling  blight 
Which  blasts  the  rose  but  spares  its  thorn. 

I  know  not  why  a  faithless  world 

With  nought  but  thorns  would  crown  my  brow, 
Nor  why  the  friends  the  most  beloved, 

To  death's  stern  mandate  soonest  bow. 

I  know  not  why  the  goddess  Love 
Did  thrill  my  soul  with  mystic  power, 

Awoke  such  sweet  and  joyous  hopes 
To  blight  and  wither  in  an  hour. 


HEREAFTER.  39 

I  know  not  why  this  aching  heart 

Must  bear  its  load  of  grief  alone, — 
Must  hush  each  hope  of  joy,  and  long 

For  angel  hands  to  bear  me  home. 

Ah,  there  I'll  know  why  I  have  drank 

This  cup  of  bitter  sorrow  here, 
With  joy  will  reap  the  harvest  which 

Was  sown  in  grief,  and  wet  with  tears. 

I'll  not  despair, — a  Father's  hand 

Will  not  inflict  a  needless  blow, 
And  if  his  ways  I  cannot  trace 

He  says,  "  Hereafter  thou  shalt  know," — 

u  Shall  know  why  I  have  led  thee  through 

Dark  scenes  of  trial  and  distress  ; 
And  brought  thee,  purified  by  woe 

To  heaven  thy  everlasting  rest  " 


TO  MOTHER. 

A  /T  OTHER  sleep  sweetly.     Thou  hast  won 

A  pearl  wreath  : — An  immortal  crown 
Reflects  the  light  from  yonder  throne, 
Thou  knowest  the  joys  of  heaven  thine  own. 

Hast  ihou  an  angel's  lovely  form, 
Sent  forth  to  comfort  those  who  mourn  ? 
O,  come  and  lull  the  grief  most  wild, 
Which  racks  the  bosom  of  thy  child. 

And  as  in  sorrow,  grief,  and  fears, 
Thou  didst  pass  through  this  vale  of  tears, 
Pity  thy  child,  and  ease  the  smart 
Of  my  poor,  wounded,  aching  heart. 


TO    MOTHER.  4! 

Thou  sure  hast  known  the  bitter  woe, 
Through  which  thy  weary  child  must  go — 
The  tears  of  blood  which  I  have  shed, 
Since  thou  hast  slumbered  with  the  dead. 

O,  could  I,  as  in  days  of  yore, 

My  grief  into  thy  bosom  pour, 

Thy  loving  smile  would  cheer  my  heart, 

Thy  soothing  words  bid  grief  depart. 

Mother,  dear  mother,  come  to-night, 
Draw  back  the  curtain,  let  the  light 
From  yonder  throne  transfuse  my  soul, 
And  make  my  bleeding  heart- wounds  whole. 

Ah  !  now,  yes  now,  I  feel  thee  near, 
Hush  earthly  discord  while  I  hear 
The  voice  which  gently  tells  the  way 
Which  leads  to  heaven's  unclouded  day. — 


42  TO    MOTHER. 

"  Your  Savior  drank  the  cup  of  woe, 
You  tread  the  path  he  led  below, 
To  him,  triumphant  on  his  throne, 
God  leadeth  you  by  paths  unknown. 

"  Press  on  through  sorrow,  grief  and  fears, 
Eternal  love  awards  your  tears, 
Do  not  despair,  or  yield  to  gloom, 
Eternal  life  springs  from  the  tomb. 

"  My  child,  remember  that  each  tear 
You  shed  in  woe  is  garnered  here, 
For  you  the  only  way  to  Heaven 
Must  be  through  sorrows  He  has  given. 


ONWARD  AND   UPWARD. 

/^NWARD,  for  the  goal's  above  thee ; 

Wherefore  loiter  by  the  way  ? 
None  but  cowards  faint  and  falter ; 
Gird  thy  loins,  and  haste  away, 

Upward,  for  the  mount  is  glowing, 
Beams  translucent  fill  the  air ; 

Strive,  and  thou  shalt  gain  its  summit, 
Upward  toil,  and  bravely  dare. 

Onward,  lo,  a  glorious  future 

Gleams  beyond  the  opening  door  ; 

Bravely  rend  each  bolt  asunder 
And  reveal  its  hidden  lore  ; — 


44  ONWARD    AND    UPWARD. 

Science  stands  within  the  portal 

Crowned  by  Hope  with  chaplets  rare, 

And  all  those  who  bravely  enter 
Shall  a  crown  of  laurel  wear. 

Onward  !  see  the  bondmen's  shackles  * 
Falling  in  oblivion's  shade, — 

Free  Columbia  proudly  soaring 
From  the  pestilential  glade. 

Upward,  on  untiring  pinion, 
See  her  eagle  on  the  wing. 

Till,  the  climax  gained,  triumphant 
Victory's  song  she'll  sweetly  sing. 

Onward,  never  yield  the  contest, 
Sow  the  seeds  of  light  and  love, 

In  the  soil  o'errun  with  error, 

And  await  the  fruit  above.  • 


1  Written  during  the  late  Civil  War. 


ONWARD    AND    UPWARD.  45 

Onward,  in  the  path  of  duty ; 

Upward,  still  thy  constant  song, 
Till,  in  heaven  crowned  with  glory 

Thou  hast  joined  the  ransomed  throng. 


LINES. 

"AH  who  is  there  but  that  would  fain 

Become  a  child  once  more 
If  future  years  would  bring  again 
All  that  they  brought  before." — 

Lamlon. 

Backward  ?     No  !  onward  let  me  press 

To  conflict,  conquest,  crown, 
The  past  has  been  misfortune's  claim, 

The  future's  all  my  own. 

What  ?  backward  to  those  parting  scenes — 
Those  hours  of  bitter  woe — 

Which  flood  the  soul  with  sorrow's  power- 
On,  whinjorc,  should  I  go  ? 


LINES.  47 

To  quaff  again  the  cup  of  woe 

Which  once  my  lips  hath   pressed 
Would  rob  the  future  of  its  charm, 

The  present  of  its  rest. 

What  if  the  sun  on  life  did  cast 

In  youth,  a.  few  bright  beams  ; 
'Twere  not  enough  to  tempt  my  feet 

To  walk  again  its  streams. 

I  would  my  trembling  barque  urge  on 

To  the  deep  sea  of  life, 
'Tis  near  the  coast  the  shoals  abound — 

The  rocks  and  clangers  rife. 

I  know  the  future  may  be  dark, 

Its  skies  be  chill  and  drear, 
But  through  the  gloaming  Faith  is  seen  ; 

And  Heaven's  port  I  near. 


48  LINES. 

Then  on,  I'll  hasten  to  the  goal, 

Nor  linger  longer  here, 
For  Heaven  hath  balm  for  every  wound, 

And  dries  the  mourner's  tear. 

Soon  life  will  dawn  upon  my  soul, 
And  there  no  blight  is  known, — 

The  Present  and  the  Future  meet 
And  mingle  round  the  Throne. 


"IS  IT  WELL  WITH  THE  CHILD?" 

T  S  it  well  with  the  child  ?     Has  it  laved  in  the  fount 
ain 

I  opened  for  sin  when  I  bled  on  the  tree  ? 
I've  sought  it,  I've  called  it — I've  died  to  redeem  it, — 

In  childhood,  Oh,  guide  its  young  footsteps  to  me  ! 

On  the  mountains  of  sin    'tis  not  well  it    should  wan 
der 

An  alien  from  God,  and  a  stranger  to  grace, 
No  pleasures  hath  earth  like  the  joy  of  my  favor, — 

No  rest  but  my  sheltering  haven  of  grace. 

'Tis  well  with  the  children,  if,  crowding  my  pathway 

The  arms  of  my  love  doth  enfold  them  once  more ; 

5 


5<D  "  IS    IT    WELL    WITH    THE    CHILD  ?  " 

I'll  lead  and  support  them  through  joys    and    through 

sorrow, 
And  bring  them  through  grace  to  the  glorified  shore  ; 

To  the  home  of  their  Savior  where  anthems  are  ringing, 
Where  palm  branches  wave,  and  the  ransomed  rejoice, 

Where  praises  to  Jesus  the  children  are  singing, 
With  no  cadence  of  sorrow  enthrilling  their  voice. 


THE  CONFLICT. 

^ I 7EARY  of  earth,  O,  Father  grant  repose 

In  the  full  fountain  of  thy  matchless  love  ; 
O,  give  the  quiet  which  from  Thee  descends 

Blest  token  that  with  thine,  my  soul  doth  blend! 

Rugged  the  path  amid  the  tangled  thorns, 
And  long  the  way  to  pilgrim's  weary  feet, 

My  strength  is  gone  ;  loud  roars  the  angry   storm, 
Impart  thy  strength  and  crown  thy  grace   complete. 

I  am  so  weary  of  the  aimless  strife, — 

The  souls  fierce  struggle  'gainst  its  prison  bars ; — 
The  fruitless  longing  for  a  higher  life, — 

The  countless  errors  which  my  spirit  mars. 


52  THE    CONFLICT. 

Earth  hath  no  balm  for  aching,  suffering  hearts, 

Nor  panacea  for  the  mind's  unrest, 
Her  only  lethean  fountain  is  the  grave  ; — 

Her  only  hope  assurance  of  its  rest. 

To-night  I  fain  would  rise  above  the  world, 
And  catch  from  angel  lips  some  sweet  refrain, 

Whose  inspiration  quelling  every  fear, 

Shall  fit  me  wholly  for  the  martyr's  pain. 

The  martyr's  pain  ?     Ah,  there  are  other  fires, 
(Which  purify  the  soul  from  earthly  dross), 

Than  those  which  bore  in  chariots  of  fire, 
A  mighty  throng  to  glory  from  the  cross. 

For  martyrs  traverse  still  earth's  Calvaries, 

And  crowns  of  thorns  are  pressed  on  many  brows; 

We  see  the  crown,  they  feel  the  piercing  thorn, 
And  sins:  their  sweetest  songs  in  saddest  hours. 


THE    CONFLICT.  53 

Their  sweetest  songs  !     Ah !  angels  only  know 

The  anguished  throes  which  call  them  into  birth  ; 

Aye,  blood  and  tears  unite  to  form  the  song 

Which  lures  to  Heaven  a  sorrowing  child  of  earth. 

Amid  the  fires  a  paeon  would 'I  raise 

To  Him  who  kindles  for  my  good  the  flame; 

I  raise  the  song,  He  floods  my  soul  with  praise 
My  weary  soul  is  laving  in  the  fount  of  love. 

Earth  and  its  trials  are  beneath  my  feet ; 

Its  thorns  all  changed  to  amaranthine  flowers, 
The  victor's  crown  is  sparkling  on  my  brow  ; 

The  conqueror's  song,  exultant,  claims  the  hour. 
5* 


GENIUS  AWAKING. 

T^HE  slumbering  genius  of  the  soul 
Must  now  arise,  assert  its  power  ; 
Too  long  unmindful  of  its  goal, 
It  slept  within  a  rosy  bower. 

But  now  a  voice  in  thunder  tone 

Doth  call    "  Come  forth,"  she  heeds  the  cry, 
As  angel  hands  remove  the  stone, 

She  plumes  her  wings  and  soars  on  high. 

By  slumber  now  no  more  inthralled 

She  rose,  and,  with  a  conqueror's  tread, 

Quick  from  her  throne  the  vassal  hurled, 
And  placed  the  crown  on  her  own  head. 


GENIUS    AWAKING.  55 

She  quaffs  the  life-inspiring  breeze 
Which  gently  fans  the  brow  of  Fame, 

Who  twines  a  wreath  of  laurel  leaves, 

Which  shed  their  fragrance  round  her  name. 

Clothed  like  the  sun  in  robes  of  light 

No  lesser  orb  she  seeks  to  dim, 
For  as  they  bask  in  borrowed  rays, 

She  boasts  reflection  too  from  him. 


MOLLIE  PITCHER. 


"  The  heroine  of  Monmouth,  June  28,  1778.  Her  husband,  an 
artillery-man,  was  shot,  and  fell  dead  just  as  she  was  carrying  him 
some  water.  She  heard  his  commander  order  the  gun  from  the 
field,  and  hastened  to  it  and  faithfully  performed  her  husband's  duty 
until  night  closed  the  contest." — Hist. 


T^vEAR  Mollie,  come  not  here  again, 

Too  great  the  risk  you  run, 
This  is  no  place  for  such  as  you, 
Go !     I  must  mind  the  gun. 

No  place  for  such  as  me  ?     John,  know 
My  country's  foes  are  mine, 

If  duty  calls  thee  'to  the  front 
It  calls  me  next  in  line. 


MOLLIE    PITCHER.  57 

Here,  take  this  luncheon,  and  this  draught 

Of  water  from  the  spring, 
And  while  you  rest  your  weary  self, 

I  'II  make  the  valleys  ring. 

She  took  his  place  beside  the  gun; 

He  rested  in  its  shade; 
And  while  he  ate,  its  brazen  tongue 

Resounded  through  the  glade. 

Again,  and  yet  again,  until 

Refreshed  he  's  by  her  side. 
"  Please  let  me  stay,  dear  John,"  she  plead, 

"No  harm  will  me  betide." 

No,  darling,  go !     The  foe  so  strong 

May  make  our  numbers  yield, 
The  battle  o'er,  I  '11  go  to  you 

To-night  across  the  field. 


58  MOLLIE    PITCHER. 

A  kiss,  a  blessing,  and  they  part, 
When  will  their  meeting  be  ? 

Across  the  fields  ?     Ah,  yes,  of  life  ! 
"  To-night  ?  "—eternity. 

But  long  she  cannot  stay  away, 

Again  she  fills  her  pail, 
And  as  she  nears  her  husband's  side, 

Strength,  hope  and  courage  fail, — 

For  reeling  from  the  gun  he  falls, — 

He  falls,  nor  falls  alone ! 
"My  God,"  she  cries,  "  O,  take  me  too, 

"  Oh,  let  me,  too,  go  home  !  " 

"  Home  to  our  Father's  house  on  high— 
"Where  war  is  aye  unknown, 

4'  Spare  me  life's  long  and  weary  road  ; 
«'  My  Father,  take  me  home  ! " 


MOLLIE    PITCHER.  59 

While  agonizing  thus  she  lay 

A  voice  sounds  in  her  ear, — 
"  Remove  this  cannon  from  the  field, — 

"  The  gunner  's  fallen  here." 

An  inspiration  thrills  her  soul, 

She  hastens  to  the  gun, 
And  bravely  fills  her  husband's  place 

Till  victory  is  won. 

The  dear  dead  lying  by  her  side 

Thrilled  every  nerve  with  power, 
Her  duty  could  not  wait,  but  grief- — 

Ah,  grief  should  have  her  hour. 

Ah,  who  can  tell  the  grief  which  wrung 

Her  woman's  heart  so  true, 
As,  gazing  on  her  pallid  dead, 

She  strove  his  task  to  do. 


6O  MOLLIE    PITCHER. 

His  task  and  hers  !     Their  country's  need 

A  holocaust  demands, 
She  felt  the  easier  task  were  his 

Who  slept  with  folded  hands. 


THE  WEDDING. 

T    HEARD  the  chime  of  merry  bells 

Upon  thy  lovely  bridal  morn, 
I  saw  them  wreathe  thy  bride's  fair  brow 
With  flowers  which  innocence  adorn. 

I  saw  the  fair  and  gentle  girl 

Lean  trustingly  upon  thy  arm, 
I  heard  you  lisp  those  magic  words 

Which  make  of  kindred  souls,  but  one. 

'Tis  well.     Deception's  cruel  power 

Hath  long  since  lured  me  from  thy  side, 
My  love  lies  buried  deep  in  flowers, 

And  now,  with  joy,  I  greet  thy  bride. 
6 


62  THE    WEDDING. 

What  matter  if  an  aching  heart 

I've  decked  with  flowers  of  brightest  hue, 
The  world  doth  ever  choose  to  gaze 

Upon  a  picture  fair  to  view. 

My  lips  I've  wreathed  in  sunny  smiles, 
To  hide  the  grief  my  heart  doth  bear, 

I'll  warble  songs  of  hope  and  cheer, 
To  hush  the  wailing  of  despair. 

Yet  once  I  caught  your  earnest  gaze 
Rest  on  me  fondly  as  of  yore, 

I  saw — I  feared  your  heart  still  true  ; 
For  Eloquence  could  say  no  more. 

I  scarce  knew  why  I  left  the  church- 
And  sought  our  seat  beneath  the  yew, — 

Nor  why  I  wept  that  he  who  claimed 
My  vows,  had  severed  love  so  true. 


THE    WEDDING. 

God  grant  thy  sea  of  life  may  prove 
As  tranquil  as  mine  is  uneven  ; 

Sweet  thought,  (he  wildest  storms  but  bear 
Us  sooner  to  our  rest  in   Heaven. 

Till  then  farewell  ?     Let  ne'er  a  thought 
Of  me,  intrude  within  thy  home, 

But  trust  in  God,  for,  soon  or  late 

Our  severed  hearts  will  claim  their  own. 


"LILIE  MAY." 

Tl  7EEP  not  for  Lilie,  sweetest  flower 
That  ever  graced  a  parent  stem  ; 
Nor  mourn  that  she,  so  young,  hath  gone 
To  'deck  the  Savior's  diadem. 

Weep  not  for  her,  so  bright,  so  fair, 
Your  heart's  fond  treasure  and  delight, 

For  angels  gently  bore  the  gem, 

To  bask  in  Heaven's  refulgent  light. 

Weep  not  for  Lilie.     Sweet  the  thought 
That  she,  an  angel  presence  now, 

Hath  learned  to  lisp  the  song  of  Heaven, 
Hath  learned  at  Jesus'  feet  to  bow. 


"  LILIE    MAY."  65 

She  left  a  world  with  sorrow  rife, 

Ere  yet  a  thorn  had  pierced  her  brow  — 

Ere  yet  the  bitter  cup  of  woe, 

Had  taught  her  soul  in  grief  to  bow. 

Dear  parents,  weep  not  that  your  flower 
Is  gathered  from  your  tender  care, 

Transplanted  to  a  fairer  clime, 

'Twill  bloom  in  fadeless  beauty  there. 

Then  strew  with  fairest  flowers  the  sod 

Which  holds  the  casket; — but  the  gem 
4       In  faith  and  hope  resign  to  God, 
Assured  they  will  unite  again. 

Weep  not  for  her !     She  sweetly  calls 
For  you  to  meet  her  in  that  home 
Of  rapturous  beauty,  light  and  love, — 

"  O,  papa,  mama,  will  you  come  ?  " 

•  6* 


OUR  HOPES. 

"  Bring  forth  your  hopes  and  look  at  them." 

/^\   WEARY,  lonely,  suffering  heart, 

Where  are  the  blissful  Hopes  so  dear, 
Which,  fairy  watchers  at  thy  shrine, 
Admitted  neither  grief  nor  fear  ? 

With  heart  elate,  I  tripped  along 
The  path  of  life  with  joyous  tread  ; 

But,  ah,  too  soon  I  found  that  thorns 
Blent  with  the  roses  round  my  head. 

Too  soon  I  felt  a  withering  blight 
Cast  its  dark  shadow  o'er  the  day, 

And  at  its  frown,  the  voice  of  Hope 
Chanted  a  dirge,  then  fled  away. 


OUR    HOPES.  67 

"  Come  back  !  Come  back  !  "  I  wildly  cried, 
"  And  cheer  my  darkness  with  your  song  :  " 

The  agony  she  may  not  view 

Which  breaks  a  heart  once  brave  and  strong. 

"  Bring  out  your  Hopes."     If  I  but  had 
One  flickering  gleam  to  cheer  my  way, 

'T  were  balm  to  heal  my  wounded  heart, — 
'Twere  noon-tide  splendor  to  my  day. 

"  Bring  out  your  Hopes  ?  "     Alas,  my  heart 
I  've  searched  in  vain  for  one  bright  gleam  ; 

The  dark-browed  visage  of  Despair 
Doth  haunt  me,  even  in  my  dream. 

Though  Hope,  for  me,  is  all  a  blank, 
And  earth  is  clothed  in  darkest  night, 

Amid  the  gloom  sweet  Faith  appears, 
And  fills  my  soul  with  heavenly  light. 


68  OUR  HOPES. 

The  festal  robe  of  white  she  wears  ; 

The  conqueror's  palm  is  in  her  hand  ; 
She  gently  whispers,  "  Calm  thy  fears, — 

I'll  lead  thee  to  thy  Father-land." 


A  CHILD  OF  POVERTY. 

HP  HE  World  hath  tried  her  varied  powers 

To  humble  this  poor,  suffering  heart, 
And  deems  the  blighting  of  its  joys 
A  rich  reward  for  all  her  art. 

I  'd  deemed  that  amaranthine  flowers 
*  Would  bloom  perennial  round  my  way, 

I  wist  not  that  relentless  Fate 

Could  turn  to  night  my  summer  day. 

For  when  I  sought  with  ardent  zeal, 

A  cherished  object  to  obtain, 
She  cast  her  fetters  round  my  path, 

And  laughed  to  see  my  efforts  vain. 


A    CHILI')    OF    POVFKTV. 

My  lonely  heart  could  not  restrain 

The  tears  which  would  unbidden   flow. 

For  all  my  struggles  were  in  vain  ; 
The  false  enchantress  would  not  go. 

But  closer  still  she  drew  her  coils' 
Around  her  helpless  victim's  head, 

'Till   Hope,  which  once  my  life  adorned. 
Seared  by  her  glance,  lay  cold  and  dead. 

Then  Wealth,  in  gaudy  plumage  sought 
To  crush  beneath  her  golden  heel, 

A  soul,  by  nature  formed  too  proud, 
At  such  a  tarnished  shrine  to  kneel. 

I  saw  the  tree  of  Knowledge  stand 
In  wisdom's  garden,  and  I  dare 

Presume  to  pluck  its  cherished  fruit  ; 
But  Fate's  keen  sword  was  waving  there. 


A    CHILD    OF    POVERTY.  /I 

She  bade  me  leave  those  classic  bowers, 
To  dwell  'neath  uncongenial  skies, — 

A  cluster  of  the  choicest  fruit 

From  off  the  tree,  my  only  prize. 

I  longed  to  mingle  with  the  wise, 
The  good,  the  noble,  and  the  pure, 

Alas,  I  had  no  golden  key 

To  spring  the  bolt  which  closed  their  door. — 

For  they  had  caught  the  canker  blight 
Which  deems  wealth,  merit's  corner-stone, 

|g 

And  rather  chill,  than  warm  with  smiles, 
A  genius  equal  to  their   own. 

But  there  are  souls  earth  cannot  crush, 

Though  they  they  may  feel  each  bitter  sting, 

And  genius,  tuned  by  sorrow's  key, 
Doth  higher  soar,  and  sweeter  sing. 


"SONGS  IN  THE  NIGHT.1 

"  C  ONGS  in  the  night  !  "     O,  Savior, 

The  night  so  long  and  drear. 
The  blessed  promise  brightens, — 
The  promised  song  doth   cheer. 

We're  listening  for  their  music 

Amid  the  nations   din, — 
The  panic,  crime,  and  sorrow  — 

The  turmoil,  strife,  and  sin. 

Anon  we  catch  the  echoes, 

As  the  holy  songs  resound 
A  golden  thread  of  harmony, 

Amid  the  discord  found. 


"SONGS    IN    THE    NIGHT.  73 

The  night  is  dark  ;    but  grandly 
From  Bethlehem's  plain  there  rolls 

The  glorious  anthem  swelling 
With  peace,  for  weary  souls. 

Each  heart  prolongs  the  chorus 

From  mountain,  hill,  and  plain, 
Till  earth,  responsive,  echoes 

The  anthem  back  again. 


' 


DELIVERANCE  WILL  COME. 

'«  pvELIVERANCE    will    come!"    sang    the    loved 

ones  at  even  ; 

1  heard  the  sweet  promise — I  claimed  it  as  mine  ; 
Though    old,    yet    'twas    new — 'twas    a    message    from 

heaven, 
Which  flooded  my  soul  with  a  rapture  divine. 

"  Deliverance  will  come  !  "  sad  and  lon^  have  I  waited, 
While  measuring  years  by  the  throbbings  of  pain  ; 

Bowing  my  head  till  the  tempest  abated, 
Hoping  and  waiting  for  rescue  in  vain. 

Waiting  for  Him — for  the  Lord  who  delivers; 
Waiting  for  Him  who  is  mighty  to  save  ; 


DELIVERANCE    WILL    COME.  75 

Waiting  in  anguish  while  every  nerve  quivers ; 
Asking  for  patience  and  grace  to  be  brave. 

Far  into  night  hath  my  vigil  been  keeping ; 

Long,  long  ago  did  the  last  star  decline  ; 
Weary  of  watching  while  comrades  are  sleeping, 

Father,  I'm  waiting  deliverance  divine. 

Weary  thy  child,  to  Thy  bosom  I'm  fleeing  ; 

Dark  is  the  way;  in  my  weakness  I  come, 
Grant  me  one  star  my  lone  pathway  revealing  ; 

Guide  and  deliver,  and  welcome  me  home. 

"  Deliverance  will  come  ! "  still  their  chorus  repeating ; 

I  queried  (as  faintly  I  joined  the  refrain) 
Should  it  come  only  when  heart-strings  are  breaking, 

Will  the  seed-time  of  sorrow  prove  fruitless  and  vain  ? 

Fruitless  and  vain  ?     'Tis  through  great  tribulation 
The  ransomed  of  earth  to  the  Father  must  go  ;  ' 


/6  DELIVERANCE    WILL    COMK. 

Then  welcome  the  trials,  the  grief,  the  temptation, 
Hereafter  their  mission  of  love  we  shall  know. 

"  Deliverance  will  come  !  "  still  the  anthem  is  ringing, 
Faith  catches  the  song  and  re-echoes  the  strain ; 

Though  weary  the  night,  the  morning  is  bringing 
Deliverance  from  sorrow,  from  anguish  and  pain. 


MIGHT  HAVE  BEEN." 


-,  Thou  art  the  cherished  one 


Who  ope'd  for  me  the  gates  of  love  ; 
No  other  had  its  bolts  removed, — 
No  other  waked  the  slumbering  dove. 

My  he&rt  doth  revel  in  the  glow 

Thy  love  doth  shed  around  my  way  ; 

Thy  gentle  voice  in  accents  mild 

Doth,  crown  with  joy  each  passing  day. 

The  seven  years  together  spent, 

Seem  like  a  sweet — a  blissful  dream  ; 

Or,  like  the  ripple  of  the  wave, 

Which  marks  the  current  of  the  stream. 


78  "  MIGHT   HAVE    BEEN." 

/ 

'Twas  with  a  maiden's  timid  trust 
I  gave  my  heart  and  hand  to  you  ; 

The  future  all  an  unknown  path  ; 
The  past,  in  duty,  sealed  from  view. 

But  as  the  years  passed  swiftly  on 
I  joyed  to  find  my  trust  secure  ; 

The  love  undimmed  by  seven  years, 
Will  to  the  end  unchanged  endure. 

Around  the  strong  protecting  oak 
How  gently  doth  the  ivy  twine, 

So  with  the  tendrils  of  my  heart 
Thy  love  doth  mingle,  and  combine. 

Our  Father's  smile  hath  blessed  our  vows  ; 

His  love  has  hallowed  every  hour, 
His  spirit  shall  our  footsteps  lead 

To  heaven's  fair  and  fadeless  bower. 


"  MIGHT    HAVE    BEEN.  79 

There  love  divine  will  shed  its  ray, 
Around  our  hearts  entwined  in  one  ; 

While  hand  in  hand  we  join  the  song, 
Which  echoes  round  the  Father's  throne. 


"MARIAN." 

"  T  T  P  where  the  pearls  of  the  heavenly  portal 

Crown  the  still  waters  so  goldenly  sweet, 
Wilt  thou  not  wreathe  me  a  garland  immortal, 

Like  to  the  lilies  that  grow  at  thy  feet? 
Marian,  Marian,  sorrow  is  clinging 

Round  my  lone  heart,  like  the  shadows  of  even ; 
Teach  me  the  song  that  the  angels  are  singing, 

Smile  on  my  soul  from  the  gateway  of  heaven." 

Annie  Herbert, 

• 

MARIAN'S  REPLY. 

A  zephyr  hath  borne  to  my  ear  thy  sad  wailing, 
Thou  dearest  companion  of  life's  sunny  hours, 

And,  if  an  immortal,  still  deem  not  unheeding 
Thy  Marian,  lost  to  earth's  mystical  bowers. 


"MARIAN."  81 

Gone  before,  safe  at  rest,  now,  in  Heaven,  I  wait  thee, 

Where  waiting    is  only  an  anthem  sublime, 
With  never  a  minor  refrain  in  its  echo — 

Never  a  wail  with  our  melodies  chime. 

\ 

Annie,  dear  Annie,  rejoice  in  thy  sorrow, 
'Twill  prove  but  the  passport  to  joys  unrevealed  ; 

The  dark  cloud  of  sadness  may  vanish  to-morrow — 
To  glory  immortal  thine  eyes  be  unsealed. 

I  twine  thee  a  wreath  formed  of  lilies  immortal — 

A  garland  resplendent  with  lustre  divine — 
To  circle  thy  brow,  ere  you  enter  the  portal 

Which  severs  our  mystical  union  with  Time  ; — 
Patience,  to  bear  all  the  ills  that  beset  you  ; 

Grace,  to  subdue  all  the  evil  within  ; 
Faith,  to  secure  every  joy  that  awaits  thee  ; 

ffope,  the  sure  anchor  of  glory,  to  win. 


82  "  MARIAN." 

Annie,  dear  Annie,  the  harp-notes  are  ringing. 

Grandly  sublime,  through  the  home  of  the  blest ; — 

This  is  the  song  that  the  ransomed  are  singing : 
"  Glory  to  God  for  salvation,  and  rest." 

Think  not  unheeded  the  thorns  in  thy  pathway, 

Bravely  removed,  or  so  patiently  borne  ; 
Smiling,  I  wait  thy  release  from  each  sorrow 

Which,  poignant  and  bitter,  thy  spirit  hath  torn. 
I  am  waiting  for  thee  by  Life's  calm,  flowing  River, 

As    I    stand    'neath    Life's    Tree,    on    its    beautiful 

shore, — 
Waiting  to  crown  thee,  with  fragrance  immortal, 

When  we  meet  in  its  shade  to  be  severed  no  more. 

Annie,  dear  Annie,  the  morning  is  breaking  ; 

Dark  was  thy  night,  but  its  shadows  will  flee  ; 
Soon  shall  I  welcome  thy  spirit  immortal, 

Crowned  with  the  blest,  on  Life's  infinite  Sea. 


MINNIE'S    BRIDAL. 

HPHEY  dressed  her  in  white  silken  robes. 

Each  stitch  with  Love's  bright  fancies  fraught ; 
And  brightest  dreams  of  hope  and  joy, 
With  every  thread^  her  heart   had  wrought. 

And  Paul  had  said:  "So  fair  a  gem, 

So  rich  a  setting  well  may  spare  ; 
I've  wooed  her  for  her  noble  soul, 

Her  modest  worth,  her  graces  rare." 

For  he  had  left  his  city  home, 

Vexed  with  its  vanities  and  pride ; 
And  in  this  quiet  vale  had   found 

Sweet  Minnie  Lee,  his  chosen  bride. 


84  MINNIE'S  BRIDAL. 

This  would  have  been  their  bridal  day  ; — 
The  orange  wreath  doth  crown  her  brow  ; — 

Why  doth  she  and  her  train  delay  ? 

The  guests  are  here, — the  priest  doth  wait. 

And  what  a  waiting  !     Lo  !  they  come  : 
Ah!  see  the  strong  man  bowed  by  grief! 

Another  claims  his  darling  one, — 
Life  gave  the  bride  away  to  Death  ! 


THE    REPROOF. 

"  \A/RITE'" said  the  angel>  and :  wrote 

The  happy,  joyous  dream  of  youth, 
Unsullied  by  earth's  tinsel  glare, 
Unstinted  in  its  meed  of  truth. 

The  dream,  incarnate  gaily  dressed, 

Within  a  flower-decked  barge  I  placed, 

And  launched  upon  a  fairy  sea, 

Which  Love,  and  Hope,  and  Pleasure  graced. 

The  tide,  receding,  bore  them  hence, 

The  fairy  music  fainter  grew  ; 
They  had  no  compass,  chart,  or  guide, 

And  flowers  the  Pole-star  hid  from  view. 


86  THE    REPROOF. 

I  heeded  not  the  mild  reproof, 
I  fancied  in  the  angel's  eyes  ; 

And,  in  my  flowery  barge,  I  left 
My  ideal  sailing  for  the  skies. 

The  angel  frowned  ;  in  tones  severe, 
Reproved  me  for  an  erring  guide, 

Who  sought,  with  flowers,  to  cover  thorns, 
And  ocean's  storms  in  caves  to  hide. 

Haste !  warn  them  of  Deception's  shoals, 
And  Passion's  tempests  that  may  rise — 

Of  rocks  of  doubt  and  unbelief, 
Which  in  the  calmest  water  lies. 

Write  of  Temptation's  subtle  power, 
Of  victories  over  self  to  gain, 

Of  crosses  to  be  bravely  borne, 
Of  resignation  born  of  pain  ; 


THE    REPROOF.  87 

For  storms  will  rise  ;  the  tempest's  rage 
May  lash  life's  sea  from  shore  to  shore  ! 

Then  will  thy  fairy  barque  survive 
The  surging  storm,  the  billows'  roar. 

Life  is  too  brief,  its  needs  too  vast 

For  Reason's  sleep,  or  Fancy's  play; — 

A  long  Eternity  awards 
The  conquests  we  achieve  to-day. 


APRIL    TENTH. 

O  WEET  sister  mine,  how  years  have  fled ! 

We're  hastening  onward  to  Life's  noon  ; 
Nor  wait  we  there,  but  forward  still  ; — 
We'll  view  the  golden  sunset  soon. 

The  sowing-time  of  life  has  passed  ; 

We  watch  with  care  the  ripening  grain  ; 
The  harvest  in  the  future  waits 

The  complement  of  toil  and  pain. 

Our  faith,  our  patience,  and  our  hope, 
We'll  twine  around  our  gathered  sheaves  ; 

And  thus,  before  the  Master's  throne, 
The  fruitage  of  our  harvest  leave. 


APRIL    TENTH.  89 

To-day  you  weld  another  link 

In  Life's  brief  chain,  and  cheerful  press 
To  greet  the  duties,  joys,  and  fears, 

That  wait  you  in  the  wilderness. 

Our  loving  hearts  would  choose  thy  path, 
Joyous  and  bright  with  song  and  flowers  ; 

More  wise  than  we,  the  God  of  Love 

May  lead,  through  grief,  to  Eden's  bowers. 

But  yet  we  know  his  way  is  best, 

And  bow,  submissive,  to  his  will ; 
And,  trusting,  place  our  hands  in  his, 

Through  joy  or  grief,  to  follow  still. 


8* 


"HE    GIVETH    SLEEP." 

~\7"ES,  I  see  the  sun  declining, 

Shadows  lengthen  on  the  way ; 
Long  has  been  the  day,  and  weary  ; 

Glad,  I  hail  the  evening  gray. 
Now  I  lay  me  down  to  slumber ; 

Savior,  guard  my  sleeping  clay. 
Let  me  wake  to  life  immortal 

On  the  resurrection  day. 

Don't  forget  to  call  me,  Savior, 

From  my  dreamless  couch  of  clay  ; 

Glad,  Thy  welcome  voice  I'll  answer 
On  the  resurrection   day. 


"HE    GIVETH    SLEEP."  QI 

While  I  sleep  beneath  Death's  shadow, 

Where  Thy  holy  dust  hath  lain, 
Thou  wilt  watch  and  guard  my  slumber — 

Thou  wilt  wake  to  life  again. 
Thou  art  coming,  crowned  with  glory, 

Heaven  and  earth's  triumphant  King  ; 
And  Thy  voice,  Thy  slumbering  children 

From  their  dusty  beds  will  bring. 

Don't  forget  me,  O  my  Savior  ! 

Call  me  early  from  my  clay  ; 
Clothe  me  in  a  garb  immortal 

On  the  resurrection  day. 

I  am  weary,  fainting,  dying, 

Gliding  down  Death's  lonely  steep, 

Trusting  in  the  blessed  promise 
That  its  shadow  is  but  sleep ; 


92  "  HE    GIVETH    SLEEP.' 

For,  to  "His  beloved  He  giveth 

Sleep,"  sweet  sleep,  and  rest  from  pain, 

Till  the  storms  of  earth  are  over, 
Then  to  life  he'll  call  again. 

Sweet  I'll  sleep;  but  in  that  morning 
He  will  rend  my  bonds  of  clay  ; 

Clothed  in  youth,  I'll  rise  immortal 
On  the  resurrection  day. 

Farewell,  Earth  !    thy  night  so  dreary 

Faith  has  hushed  in  blissful  calm  ; 
In  that  glorious  morn  I'll  triumph 

O'er  thy  futile  power  to  harm, — 
Triumph,  through  the  Savior's  merit, 

O'er  temptation,  death  and  sin, — 
Sing  His  praise,  through  endless  ages, 

Who  my  crown  of  life  did  win. 


"  HE    GIVETH    SLEEP.  93 

Yes,  "  He  giveth  His  beloved 
Sleep,"  to  span  the  lonely  way, 

Through  the  dreary  realms  of  shadow, 
To  the  resurrection   day. 


BETH. 

"T^vON'T  think  you  trouble  me, 

If  you  "  swear ; " 
For  I  do  not  care  a  straw —  • 

So  there  ! 

I  have  heard  your  bark  before, 
And  T  rather  like  its  roar; 
So  treat  us  to  some  more — 

If  you  dare. 

I  shall  send  my  "  dishes  old," 

If  I  please 
I  shall  "  hull  corn  "  again, 

Just  to  tease 


BETH.  95 

A  school-ma'am,  rude  and  rough, 
Who  goes  off  in  a  huff, 
If  you  just  send  her  snuff 

For  a  sneeze. 


But,  before  you  begin, 

Have  a  care, 
Or  the  neighbors  will  think 

You  on  a  "  tare  ; " 
So,  fasten  well  your  door ; 
Then,  in  the  middle  floor, 
Open  wide  your  mouth,  and  roar 

Out  a  "  swear." 


It  just  makes  me  laugh, 

When  I  think 
How  relieved  you  will  feel ; — 

What  a  wink 


96  BETH. 

Of  ambition  satisfied, — 

Of  revenge  so  well  applied, — 

Of  a  passion  gratified, 

Without  "chink." 

Just  before  you  begin, 

Let  me  know ; 
I  should  like  to  be  present 

At  the  show. 

When  school  ma'ams  take  the  stage, 
Then  comedy  will  rage, 
And  a  box  I  will  engage 

While  you  blow. 


DECEMBER  THIRTY-FIRST. 

/^\LD  Year,  is  this  our  parting  hour? 

Can  no  fond  words  detain  thee  here  ? 
No  magic  lend  its  witching  power 

To  stay  thy  flight,  and  keep  thee  near  ? 

Why  thus  impatient  to  depart, 

Thou  last  brief  link  in   Memory's  chain? 
Thy  going  drapes  my  soul  in  gloom, 

And  fills  my  heart  with  bitter  pain. 

And  yet  it  is  small  meed  of  joy 

That  thou  hast  scattered  o'er  my  way — 
Thy  fingers  swept  a  broken  lyre, 

And  thrilled  its  chords  in  mournful  lay. 
9 


98  DECEMHKK  THIRTY-FIRST. 

Twas  not  thy  fault  that  thou  didst  find 
The  broken  harp  on  willows  hung, — 

A  harp  thy  elder  brother's  hands 
By  harsher  play  had    nigh  unstrung. 

And  still  thy  younger  brother  near, 

May  prove  less  kind  than  they  or  thou, 

Lay  heavier  crosses  at  my  feet, — 

With   sharper  thorns  entwine  my  brow. 

I  cannot  change  old  friends  for  new. 

Nor  with  the  cypress    twine  the  palm  ; 
Nor  hush  the  tumult  in  my  breast, 

And  quell  its  tempest  into  calm. 

I  know  that  future  years  may  bring 
Nepenthe  in  some  chalice  rare, 

And  peaceful  calm  may  crown    the  brow 
Where  erst  had  rested  naught  but  care. 


DECEMBER    THIRTY-FIRST.  99 

Farewell !     Alas,  thou  goest  now 

To  join  the  long  procession  vast, 
Which  spans  Time's  sea  from  shore  to  shore, 

And  links  the  future  with  the  past. 

Farewell !     But  list ; — we  meet  again 
When  all  thy  brotherhood  have  passed 

The  cycle  of  the  years,  and  'waked 
By  echoes  of  the  trumpet  blast. 

Then  will  I  learn  your  discipline, 

To  bless,  and  purify,  was  given  ; 
And  every  tear,  and  pain,  and  woe, 

Its  antidote  will  find  in  heaven. 


LOSS    AND    GAIN. 

"T^HKRE  is  music  enthrilling  the  calm  summer  air, 

It  skims  o'er  the  fringes  of  thought  like  a  bird  ; 
Most  sweetly  it  lulls,  but  it  never  could  rouse  ; 
For  the  depths  of  the  spirit  no  cadence  has  heard. 

The  artist  sings  on,  like  the  birds  at  our  door, 
Unmeasured  the  lay,  and  unnoted  the  theme  ; 

No  life-blood  commingles  the  song  that  we  hear ; — 
It  falls  on  the  ear  like  a  beautiful  dream. 

Poor    heart  !     it    must    pass    through     the    crucible's 
heat — 

The  furnace  of  sorrow,  of  trial,  and  pain  ; — 
At  the  fountain  of  Marah  must  linger  to  drink 

Of  its  dark,  seething  waters  again  and  again. 


LOSS    AND    GAIN.  IOI 

JVow,  there  floats  on  the  air  a  sweet  rapturous  lay  ; 

We  listen,  entranced,  to  the  soul-stirring  strain  ; 
We  feel  that  a  spirit  is  paving  our  way, 

With  its  heart's  blood  and  tears,  to  a  loftier  plain. 

We  measure  our  meed  by  the  notes  of  the  bird, — 
He  lays  all  the  wealth  of  his  heart  at  our  feet ; 

The  soul  of  the  minstrel,  transmuted  to  song. 
Would  lure  us  from  earth  by  its  melody  sweet. 

The  blood-infused  poem  will  live  on  for  aye, 
For  the  life  of  the  artist  is  thridding  each  line ; 

From  the  heart's  broken    chalice  alone  there  can  flow 
The  fragrance  encrypt  by  the  Artist  divine. 


A  sculptor  toiled  at  the  marble  block 
From  morn  till  the  star-begemmed   night, 


IO2  LOSS    AND    GAIN. 

When  his  cherished  dream,  by  labor  evoked, 
Appeared  in  its  beautiful  light. 

For  only  by  loss  of  its  prisoning  walls, 
Could  the  skill  of  the  master  appear  ; 

And  the  vision  of  youth,  in  its  beauty,  at  last 
Reward  all  his  labor  and  care. 

So  true  was  he  wed  to  his  beautiful  art, 
That  his  strength,  life  and  spirit  he  gave  ; 

Then  she  rose,  in  her  beauty,  a  monument  rare. 
His  name  for  the  Future  to  save. 

He  lives,  and  shall  live  while  the  ages  roll  on, 
In  the  works  which  his  spirit  portrayed  ; 

For  creations  of  genius,  immortal  as  she, 
Were  not  born,  like  the  author,  to  fade. 


LOSS    AND    GAIN.  IO3 

For  Art  will  survive,  though  the  artist  decay, 

For  works  are  less  transient,  less  frail  than  the  hand  ; 

And  the  life-breathing  marble,  or  flashings  of  thought, 
Time  cannot  to  darkness  remand. 

'Twas  Art  paved  the  streets  of  the  City  of  God, 
The  foundation  laid  of  its  bright  jasper  wall  ; 

Its  gardens  and  fountains  in  beauty  arrayed  ; 
And  painted  the  rainbow  encircling  all. 

'Twas    she    swept    the    harp  when    the    morning    stars 
sang— 

Her  fingers  had  fashioned  its  beautiful  form  ; 
Her  voice    rang    the  sweetest    o'er   Bethlehem's    plain, 

To  herald  the  tidings — the  Savior  is  born. 

On  the  darkness  zmcl  gloom  of  the  Edenic  night, 
She  cast  a  bright  ray  o'er  the  loss  we  incurred  ; 


IO4  LOSS    AND    GAIN. 

And  her  spirit  still  chants  through  the  cycles  of  time, 
That  its  foss  will  Drove  train  in  the  Eden  restored. 


For  Art  is  the  breathing  of  Infinite  Love, 

And  cannot  decay,  for  immortal  its  birth  ; 
Immensity,  thrilled  by  its  glorious  sway, 

Is  resounding  its  Architect's  praises  to  earth. 

*  *  *  * 

On  each  round  we  ascend  up  the  ladder  of  truth, 
We  must  trample  some  earthly  desire ; 

For  only  by  loss  of  these  clogs  do  we  gain 
The  heaven  for  which  we  aspire. 


UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA  LIBRARY 

Los  Angeles 
This  book  is  DUE  on  the  last  date  stamped  below. 


-Form  L9-50ro-4,'61(B8994s4)444 


PS 
2664 


Prindle   - 


UC  SOUTHERN  REGIONAL  LIBRARY  FACILITY 


A  A      000120494    o 


P935a   1     Alpine   flowers 


PS 

2664 
P935a   1 


